A few weeks passed.
Tal crouched near the goat pen on the farm, offering a handful of feed.
"C'mon, eat. Aren't you hungry?"
"Meeeh," the goat replied in typical stubbornness.
"Tal, what are you doing?"
"Isabella—hi. The goat isn't eating."
She frowned. "That's strange. Don't you think it might be sick?"
"Sick?!" Tal stiffened. "Right. That makes sense."
Isabella nodded. "Goats are usually triggered by food. If it isn't eating, it's either being selective—or it's sick."
Tal's gaze hardened, attention fixed on the animal.
"It needs a veterinarian."
"Okay… Isa, let's go," he said, already moving toward the car.
Isabella blinked, caught off guard by the sudden urgency.
While driving, Tal noticed her lost in thought.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
She hesitated. "…Why did you call me Isa?"
Tal smirked faintly. Is that her problem? He replied casually, "It's just a short form of Isabella."
She inwardly debated. Isn't that Bella? Ugh… never mind. Isa is better, she told herself, hiding a small smile.
At the veterinary clinic, the goat was examined thoroughly. A few tests later, the vet reassured them it would recover with proper care.
Tal checked his watch.
"I have to go," he said calmly.
"Go where?" Isabella asked.
Tal reached into his pocket and handed her fifty dollars.
"For the treatment."
She hesitated. "Tal—where are you going?"
"I have a flight to catch."
Before she could ask more, Tal slipped into the car. The engine roared, and just like that, he disappeared—leaving Isabella puzzled by the suddenness of his departure.
Tal arrived at Nap International Airport, booked a ticket within the hour, and moved through security without hesitation.
When boarding was announced, he took his seat and stared ahead as the engines roared to life.
Several hours later:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We are preparing for landing."
The plane touched down. Tal power-walked toward the taxi stand. His phone rang.
"I never knew you were such a fast walker, Tal."
He stopped. "Freya… you're here, aren't you?"
"What can I say?" she replied softly. "I'm here."
Tal smiled, smirked, and glanced up just as a car horn beeped.
Freya stepped out, walking toward him. She wrapped him in a brief hug—warm enough to convey care, short enough to leave the rest unsaid.
"I'm glad you're back, Tal."
"It's good to see you too."
They drove off.
"Hungry?" Freya asked.
"Yeah."
"Okay. I've got the perfect place: Lahore Grill. Close to the house—and the food's fantastic."
"Really?"
"Trust me. You know I never wish you bad."
"I know."
They arrived. The smell of spices and sizzling grills welcomed them.
"Two tikka rolls each, and a chicken kebab roll," Freya told the waiter.
"And you, sir?"
"Chicken biryani, chicken karahi, chana masala, and raita. That's all."
Freya leaned back. "The food here is amazing, Tal! You'll definitely enjoy it. And there's a party tomorrow for your arrival."
"Seriously? Who planned it?"
"I did. It's going to be fun!"
"Fun?" Tal smirked. "I see nothing fun about people eating free food and drinking free wine."
Freya stared at him, incredulous. Is Tal a celebrity?
"Any extra activities?" Tal asked. "Something that would actually be fun?"
"Ohhh… so that's what you meant. You should speak clearer, Tal."
"Let me guess—you took half my words and assumed I'm high and mighty?"
"Wrong. Don't tell me you're a mind reader. Merlin? Wizard of Oz?"
Tal chuckled. "So, I'm wrong then."
"Yes. You are."
"My apologies."
"No, it's my apology."
"Exactly what I said."
"No, you said my apologies."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Freya smiled.
"Le dîner est servi," the waiter announced.
"Xai o Chin Bachan… Bachan," Tal whispered seriously.
Freya burst out laughing. The waiter blinked, unsure. Tal placed a hand gently on the waiter's shoulder.
"Gorobaque."
He made a small shooing gesture.
"Gorobaque."
The waiter nodded. Freya was still laughing too hard to breathe.
They ate in comfortable silence, remnants of laughter lingering.
Back in the car, Freya finally broke the silence:
"So… why did you quit your job and leave without saying a word?"
"It's all a planned event, Freya."
Her hands drummed nervously on the wheel.
"We've arrived. Pull over."
She parked. They walked inside without another word. Tal headed straight to his room and slept. Freya paused in the hallway, replaying the drive in her mind. She showered and finally went to bed, reflecting on the day.
The next day, the house buzzed with decorators, chefs, and musicians. Guests arrived. Elton John's Your Song drifted softly through the hall.
Freya checked on Tal:
"Tal?"
"Almost done."
"I'm coming in."
She froze. Tal stood in black.
"Tal… this isn't a funeral. Change to white."
"Freya, there's no law against black."
She shook her head.
"Quarter past six. Let's go."
Downstairs, the guests were wrapped in warmth and nostalgia.
"Are you having a hard time with this party? You seem… uninterested."
"Am I?"
"You are."
"Maybe you weren't expecting my earlier reply."
Voices cut through.
"Tal! My man—the Arc Archivist! Good to see you!"
Handshakes, introductions, laughter—Freya smiled politely.
Nolan approached, motioning outside. The night air was crisp. A small crowd gathered around chess tables.
"You think you can beat me now?" Nolan smirked.
"$1,000. You're on."
Tal set up the table, calm, observing.
A woman approached confidently.
"Hi. Victoria Laurence. Studies tell me you are Oliver Tal, the Arc Archivist."
Tal froze. She addressed the crowd:
"I called twelve mega grandmasters here tonight. If gambling is your thing, step forward."